


Meet the Catboys

by cookie_cookie_cookie



Series: The Novaks and their Kitty Boys [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Animal Traits, Castiel is an anxious mess, Catboy Dean Winchester, Catboy Sam Winchester, Catboys & Catgirls, College | University Student Jimmy Novak (Supernatural), First Meetings, Fluff, Jimmy is a bad mofo, M/M, Master/Pet, Minor Speech Impairment, Multi, Past Abuse, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Writer Jimmy Novak (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_cookie_cookie/pseuds/cookie_cookie_cookie
Summary: Castiel, a depressed professor, and his brother, Jimmy, meet two abandoned catboys and fall in love with them immediately.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Jimmy Novak (Supernatural), Castiel/Jimmy Novak/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jimmy Novak/Dean Winchester
Series: The Novaks and their Kitty Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611331
Comments: 1
Kudos: 100





	1. Poor Little Kitty

Five lectures, fifteen coffee breaks and four panic attacks later, Castiel Novak was sitting in his Lincoln Continental with heavy eyelids and a pounding headache. His depression and anxiety had spent the past few nights, working the graveyard shift double time, leaving him shell-shocked and drifting through space like he was entirely incorporeal. Fatigue became his companion, a tender presence and a passionate lover, devouring him with lust-black eyes and unholy ministrations.

Anyone watching his life from the outside would think he had it all—good looks, a two-thousand-dollar apartment, a great job at one of the most prestigious universities on the East Coast, and two Pulitzer-prize-winning books. He was twenty-nine, one of the youngest graduate professors at the school, and one of the highest-rated professors in the East Coast. He loved everything about his job, from interpreting Hellenistic literature to drafting and updating his syllabi at three in the morning over three jumbo cups of coffee.

Lately, however, his nights have been plagued with racing thoughts and anxiety-induced insomnia. Jimmy usually put him at ease. The twins would often sit in their living room having long talks over take-out food, playing board games, or spending quiet nights in front of the television, binge-watching some crappy show on Netflix until Cas started to panic. But one year ago, their mother died, two years after their father’s death. Jimmy grew depressed and withdrawn, and Cas had grown lonelier. The air grew thick and muggy between them when they stood in close proximity, and cold and paper-thin when Cas was by himself. His brother began spending most of his days caged in his tiny office with nothing but coffee, crumpled research notes, and his beat-up desktop to keep him company.

Jimmy’s boss and editor, Fergus Crowley was a grade-A asshole. He took pleasure out of working his employees until they were bone-weary and bordering on suicidal. Most of the employees, aside from Jimmy of course, damn near pissed their pants whenever he walked into the room. The man was a vulture, picking at your flesh chunk-by-chunk until you were a scatter of bones rotting under the sun. It didn't matter how long or how hard you worked, it wasn’t enough. And since Jimmy was one of the few people at the office bold enough to challenge him, he became the man's favorite flavor.

So here was Cas, left in the dust and screaming into an abyss. Most nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d spend his nights either waking up in the middle of the night having a panic attack or frantically grading assignments to stave off a panic attack.

His hands clamped around the wheel, he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. He felt the dull strain behind his eyes. He wanted to lay down for a few minutes, but he knew he had to review his notes for tomorrow’s lecture and then continue drafting his dissertation. Outside his window, he could see students and professors trickling up and down the campus, across the parking lots, and into their cars. Everything and everyone around him moved in slow motion. The hours seemed to drag on by like the blunt edge of a blade tearing its way through flesh—torturous, time stretched far enough to make relief a stranger. Pushing air through his nostrils, he threw his car into gear and pulled out of his parking space.

\-----

Jimmy Novak sat in his office, longing for the comfort of his bed and a bottle of beer. He stared at the half-written draft of his article. He had to write about the data breach at Kingston Air Lines. The story was seemingly compelling, but with the way he's writing, he figured he'd might as well be writing a trashy non-fiction saturated with buzzwords and information from pseudo-experts. 

He wanted to punch a hole through the desktop's screen or smash the thing to pieces.

_The culprits of the data leak flooded the dark net with client information, distributing sensitive information to willing clients seeking to utilize the exploitation of company information for..._

He sighed and rubbed the inner corners of his eyes with thick, sore fingers. The _tap! tap! tap!_ on his door pulled him from his pitiful haze. 

“Come in!”

Crowley walked into the room, pushing his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit. Jimmy sat back in his seat and took him in—a dark brown and grey beard covering almost the entire bottom half of his face, a receding hairline, and broad shoulders to make him appear taller and intimidating. He had the kind of presence that made most people's blood go cold. He was like a lion, and everyone else was a helpless antelope on the safari. The minute you let your guard down, he'd pounce you and tear you to shreds.

"Can I help you, Mr. Crowley?”

"You can help me by letting me know when you're getting that piece on the data breach. I'm not a patient man, Novak."

 _Obviously,_ Jimmy wanted to say. 

"I will try to have it ready by tomorrow." He inwardly groaned the minute the sentence left his mouth.

"You'll _try_ to have it ready by tomorrow?" the man inquired with a raised brow. Jimmy pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Look, Crowley, my hands are tied here. You have me writing an article in an area I’m barely familiar with, and I don’t have much to go on at the moment.” Crowley exhaled sharply as he strolled over to Jimmy’s desk and perched himself on the edge.

"Jimmy, let me explain something to you; this company is like...a clock. Every piece has to do their part in order to keep the clock ticking. If one of the parts don't work, the clock stops ticking. Are you following me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not a very happy man when my clock stops ticking. You, Novak, are testing my patience here, and as I’ve stated before, I’m a man with a rather short supply of it. So if you wanna keep your job here, I suggest you be a good boy and have that article submitted to me by tomorrow morning. Capiche?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy bit out, forcing a smile. For a moment, the two sat in silence, gauging each other’s expressions. If there was one thing Jimmy learned from his mother, its to never let people intimidate you no matter how powerful they were. Rebecca Shurley, formerly known as Rebecca Novak, was an inextinguishable fire. A conflagration on the scale of the 'Great Fire of Rome.' Jimmy could picture Nero perched on his chaise watching through his window and plucking the strings of his lyre.

Even when she was married to Bartholomew Novak, the psychotic bastard that he was, she held her flare with a vise-like grip no matter how hard he tried to knock it out of her hand. She was loud, wild and stubborn to a fault. She was a storm of heat, barreling across the earth with abandon. It was one of the many things that made her a great poet. Cas always teased Jimmy about how much like their mother he was, even though it bothered him.

After a pregnant stretch of silence, Crowley pushed himself off the desk and headed out of the room. The minute he heard the door shut, Jimmy flipped Crowley off. 

\----

The stream of curses sat at the precipice of Castiel's tongue as he stared at the car. He had run out of gas and was currently parked at the shoulder of the road, staring at his car like an idiot. Cars cruised by him, a couple of drivers throwing curious glances in his direction. Growling under his breath, he paced to the other side of his car and pulled his phone out. His battery was at two percent.

_Great._

He wanted to cry. Just cry all the frustration out. But he couldn’t. If his dad saw him in his corduroy suit and cashmere vest, crying on the side of the road, he would've denounced him or laughed at him. He could almost hear it now.

 _Fag! Sissy! Little nancyboy!—_ the streamline of homophobic slurs followed with mocking laughter and tall tales to his friends over a meal of four-dollar pints of beer and grease-drenched burgers. Maybe a couple jokes about buying him a box of tampons or something.

Cas kicked the car and growled. He wanted to take a rock and throw it at the window. Instead, he settled for sagging against the car door and sinking to his haunches. Maybe he could take a stroll into the forest. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared into the copse, watching as the leaves quivered in the wind as they clung almost desperately to the branches. Some of them gave to the sway and drifted away. There was grace to the way they succumbed. It was so melancholy, so pathetic yet so erotic. 

As a young boy, he and his brother would sometimes sneak out of the house while their parents screamed at each other. They would wander far off, side-by-side, go to their favorite spot which was at the edge of the forest near their house. They would play games, draw pictures, and sometimes go exploring. Cas liked to collect the rocks and hide them in a box under his bed. Sometimes, they’d wander into the forest until they reached the creek, strip to their underwear and splash around in the water. They didn't care about the murk or how it stung their bared skin.

He was roused from his memory by the sight of someone’s head peeking from behind the trees. Cas noticed ears—dirty blond ears sticking out from the mess of tangled hair. A catboy? The minute he noticed Cas was staring, the kit squeaked and ducked behind the tree. Cas frowned as he rose, ignoring the stiffness in his knees, and wandered from his car.

"Hello?" he called out in a soft voice. 

_No answer._

"Hello?" he tried again, nearing the forest. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you?" The grass stirred. The catboy rose to his feet, his eyes wide with fear. 

"Hey, buddy." Cas smiled at him tenderly. The boy shied away from him. Cas thought about assuring him that he wasn't going to hurt him, but at the same time, he feared he would come off as pushy. He sat back down and waited patiently. He always wanted a catboy, but the thought of owning one gave him too much anxiety. But there was something about this particular one that was beguiling. Five seconds turned to ten, and ten to twenty, before the catboy approached him with cautious steps. As the kit got closer, Castiel was stricken by his beauty. He had a scrawny frame, creamy skin peppered with soft freckles, and plush lips. He appeared malnourished, and his arms, torso and legs were smeared with dirt. His hair was matted and laced with pieces of dry leaf and specks of soil. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green, cutting into Cas’s soul and arresting him.

"What's your name?" Cas asked softly, almost breathlessly. The kit didn't speak for a few beats of silence, fidgeting as he worried his lower lip between his tiny fangs and stared at his bared feet. It was apparent that the boy had been abused by his owners.

"D-dean." The boy's voice was soft yet rough, most likely from screaming or crying. Cas looked down at the boy's body. Skinny limbs, a soft and flat stomach, tired eyes, some scars and discoloration on his arms and legs. He swallowed his anger towards the owners, not wanting to scare the boy.

"Dean, I'm Castiel." He had many questions. Did he still live with his owners? Were they looking for him? Dean rubbed his forearms and smiled sadly, his eyes still glued to his feet.

"Where are you coming from, Dean?"

Dean pointed behind him towards the forest. 

"Are your mommy and daddy looking for you? Where are they?"

Dean's lower lip quivered, and he shook his head. "They kick me out fer bein' naughty. They says I's a bad kitty. Real bad." Cas clenched his jaw and blinked back tears. He remembered when his mother threw him out of the house when he was sixteen. He was homeless for about a week, surviving off of food he dug up from dumpsters behind restaurants. Maybe a meal bought from a couple dollars dropped into his cup out of pity. He wiped some tears away and looked back up at Dean.

"Are you hungry?"

The kit nodded.

"What do you like to eat?"

The boy shrugged and took his tail into his fists, squeezing and stroking it, his eyes on the ground.

"I'on know. They ain't fed me much."

"How about a hamburger? There's a diner not too far up the street. We can walk over there and have some dinner together. How does that sound?" 

\--------

Jimmy decided to take his lunch break at a local café, which was not too far downtown. He grew sick of eating salads from the vending machine in his office while staring at his shitty draft. The streets were crowded, and the air was loaded with the miasma of gasoline, cigarette smell and ripening fruit. He thought about maybe picking up some fresh fruits on the way back. While Cas loved vegetables, Jimmy was more of a fruit guy. He passed by the vendor's stands and headed into the café. It was a small indie place, crowded mostly with college kids all plaid, inked skin, and pierced orifices. He ordered a coffee and a slice of key lime pie. As he headed out of the café, he caught sight of a scrawny catboy crumpled on the floor, sobbing as he held his leg. Above him, an older woman in a fancy dress stood over him, berating him. His jaw set and his hands strangling his coffee cup, Jimmy stalked over to the woman.

“….you things are abominations! Wasting our tax dollars while you laze about, taking up space. Do you know how hard I work? Huh?

The kit lied there, shaking and whimpering, the chestnut locks of his shaggy hair falling over his eyes.

“Hey!” Jimmy growled out. The lady whipped her head around, looking unrightfully affronted. “What the hell is your problem?”

She sneered condescendingly. “With all due respect, sir, its none of your business!”

“It is my business, _ma’am,_ when you’re standing here, yelling at a little kitten for no reason!”

“This isn’t a kitten; this is a mutation! A godless little abomination!” The lady kicked at the boy again, earning a pained shriek. 

"I-I-I'm—I'm sorry, miss," the catboy stuttered, cowering away from her. The lady continued to scowl at him. Before Jimmy could stop himself, he wrenched the lid off of his coffee cup and flung the beverage at her chest. She jumped back, gasping.

“What on earth is wrong with you? Do you know how much it cost?”

“No, and I don’t care.”

The catboy giggled a little bit. Jimmy squatted to help the boy to his feet.

“You okay, buddy?” he asked softly, ignoring the woman’s annoyed huffs. The boy nodded. Jimmy looked down at the scratch on his leg from where the lady had kicked him. He could hear the _click! click! click!_ of her heels against the asphalt as she stalked off.

“What’s your name?"

The boy bit his lip. 

"It’s Sam, sir."

Jimmy chuckled at him.

"You don't have to call me sir, Sam."

Sam squinted at him, his pale hazel eyes gleaming through the fringes of his bangs. "I don't? Then, what do I call you?"

"Jimmy. Or James. Whatever's easier."


	2. Welcome to the Novak's

They arrived at Joe's Diner, a hole-in-the-wall joint a couple miles from the intersection. It was a tiny, beat-up building with concrete siding and small windows. A rusty neon open sign hung over the door, the letters "O" and "N" flickering the incessantly. Inside, the diner was almost empty unsurprisingly. There was a scatter of people sitting at the booths, reading their newspapers or staring at their phone screens. Cas dragged Dean into the bathroom, which was thankfully empty. It was a tad filthy with puddles of water on the floor and one or two urinals that were clogged, and the trashcan was submerge with crumpled paper towels and candy wrappers. Cas wiped one of the sinks down and hoisted Dean onto it. He ran a paper towel under hot water and scrubbed the dirt off of his body. Dean winced and fidgeted a few times; Cas had to gently hold him still. He eventually remembered the boy was naked and took off his jacket. Dean was half his size and had a scrawny frame, so the coat hung down to his knobby knees. They ended up sitting at a booth that was next to the window. 

Cas ordered burgers for the both of them along with glasses of water. The waitress stared at Dean curiously, making the kit squirm a little. Cas glared at her until she averted her gaze and marched into the kitchen. When they finally got their food, Dean had already began diving into his. Cas's heart clenched as he watched the boy take large bites of the food, barely even savoring it. He ate so fast, Cas feared he'd throw up. He couldn't tell him to slow down, of course; the boy had starved for god knows how long, and of course Cas knew how that felt. He knew how it felt to be so hungry, every part of your body hurt. Whenever he saw food, he'd scarf it down in large bites, desperate to gratify that aching emptiness. Dean looked almost feral, his fangs tearing into his meat, not even registering the beads of spit and grease dribbling down his chin. A couple of patrons gave Dean disgusted looks, but Cas paid them no mind.

"How's your food?"

Dean nodded, unaware of the piece of beef clinging to his bottom lip. "Is'eal guh, Misser Cass-eell."

"You know, Dean. You can call me Cas or Cassie if you like. I know my name can be a mouthful."

With an eager nod, the kid swallowed his food loudly and then let out a loud burp. Cas chuckled. Dean blushed and covered his mouth.

"Ess-cuse me, sir," the boy said sheepishly. "That's real rude of me..."

Cas held his hand up and smiled his head as he shook his head.

"It’s fine, Dean. Really." The two continued to eat in silence as Cas clawed his mind bloody searching for the right words to say. Trying to find the appropriate way to approach the subject. He didn’t want to scare Dean off, but the thought of him sleeping out in the cold where he could easily get sick or worse chilled him to the marrow.

"So, do you have anywhere warm to sleep tonight?"

He damn near cringed the minute the words left his mouth, half expecting Dean to start panicking or just bolt out of the diner. Instead, the catboy shrugged and said, "I sleep on a tree. Iss kinda comfy sometimes, even though it can get cold at night. The squirrels are kinda nice sometimes, but they get scared of me."

Cas nodded.

"Do you have any friends or family you can stay with?"

Dean shook his head.

"No, not really."

Cas gnawed on his lip. There were a few shelters for homeless catpeople, but those places got overcrowded and since catboys were only seen as fetishes or 'abominable children of the devil,' as most religious fanatics called them, the staff had far too many reasons to take advantage of them. Churches weren't an option and neither were orphanages. The only places available were prisons and catpeople detention centers, and sometimes when those place get crowded, the staff would either put them back on the streets or 'put them down.'

"You know, Dean. I have a spare bed at my apartment. It's warm and comfy, and we have lots of snacks if you wanna eat them. We also have some books, TVs, some board games and all sorts of other cool stuff." 

Dean lowered his burger and looked up at him, eyes wide. Cas tensed. He should've known that it was too forward and a little much. The boy barely knew him, and Cas was already trying to take him home.

"I-I-I don't wanna t-trouble you, Mister Cas. Yer nice and all but I'm real bad an' stinky an' loud an' I'on think you'd want me an'—"

"Dean," he held his hand up, "it's no trouble. We have plenty of room and lots of food, and..." Cas wanted to tell the boy he wasn't a waste or bad or worthless, but he couldn't overwhelm the boy. When he looked up at Dean, he saw those dark, unkempt eyebrows furrowing together as he contemplated his options. Cas wanted so desperately for the kitten to say yes. He didn't know why. Maybe it was sympathy. Maybe he saw himself in the boy. Or maybe he was just lonely, and Dean was just beautiful in so many ways. There was something so enticing and so captivating about him. Either way, he felt the need to be close to him chewing into him with razor-sharp Dracula fangs, draining him of all rationality.

Dean looked up and nodded. “That’d be real nice. Thank you, Sir.”

\--------

Jimmy took Sam back to the café and ordered himself another coffee. Sam ordered himself a glass of water and a bowl of hot soup. Sam’s reading was okay. He could process most of the words on the menu, but he had trouble pronouncing some of the food items. When Jimmy had asked him how he knew how to read, Sam sheepishly confessed he'd sneak into one of the public libraries and try to teach himself to read. He hadn't gotten very far, of course. He managed to read up to Dr. Seuss, but the poems were hard to understand. 

Jimmy frowned as he watched the boy shovel spoonfuls of soup into his mouth. He didn't take much time to let it cool before he started eating, so he ended up sputtering half the time. Jimmy had to wipe his mouth for him a couple of times. He had to do it gingerly, of course; he didn't know how Sam would react to being touched. The boy continued shoveling the food into his mouth when Jimmy returned to his seat across from him. 

“I see you’re enjoying your food, huh.”

Sam nodded.

“Yes, I am,” he said around a mouthful of soup, oblivious to the dribbling mess around his mouth. Thank you, Jimmy.”

“It’s no problem, Sam.”

The grateful smile Sam granted him made Jimmy's insides melt. It was at that very moment he realized he wanted to see this every day, Sam sitting across from him eating until his belly was full and he had that dopy look on his face. Jimmy took a sip of his coffee and looked around the café.

“You know, this place actually used to be an antique store before the owner passed away.”

“That’s very sad.”

There was a sweetness in Sam’s voice. It was like a soothing balm over Jimmy’s deepest wounds. He found himself wondering what it was that Sam went through. Why was he wandering the streets unclothed? He knew there were mixed feelings about catpeople in America, of course. They were either considered 'sexy and exotic' or 'ungodly creations that wasted tax dollars and took up space.' To Jimmy, they were pure and beautiful—innocent creatures born from victims of illegal experiments thrust into a world where the idea of being natural was subjective. Catpeople were pure and innocent, kind and fiercely loyal to a fault.

“So,” he began almost awkwardly, “how did you end up on the streets?”

Sam hesitated for a moment, lowering his spoon.

“Um, my owners rejected me a few days after adopting me. They said I was too ugly and too talkative.”

Jimmy drew in a sharp breath and set his coffee down.

“Sorry to hear that, Sam.”

Sam just nodded solemnly and stirred his soup with his spoon. It was heartbreaking, the thought of people buying living beings and then throwing them out like they were a broken cell phone. Sam was left on the streets, susceptible to all sorts of abuse—like that crazy lady he'd encountered earlier—all because his owners were spoiled and entitled pieces of shit who cared more about having something to show off to their equally vapid friends than caring for a life other than their own.

Sam shrugged.

“It’s fine. I'm used to it."

\-----

By the time they were finished with their burgers, Cas had decided to use the diner’s phone to call Jimmy. His twin, of course, moaned and groaned about it. Jimmy hated driving the car with Cas in it; Cas couldn’t blame him, though. He had a tendency to be a “back seat driver.”

In Cas’s defense, however, his brother can be a reckless driver. He also had road rage, though not as bad as their mother’s. She was a wild car, that woman. One minute, she was calm, and next minute, she was a rabid beast, all unsheathed claws and phlegmy fangs and frothing at the mouth.

“Oh, uh, one more thing, I need to tell you—”  
“Oh, Cas, I gotta tell you something—"

Both brothers spoke at the same time.

“You first,” Jimmy said quickly. Cas panicked and then said, “no, you first.” There was a long pause at both ends of the lines before Jimmy blew a raspberry.

“Okay. I may have a guest with me. A guest that’s coming in the form of a catboy.”

Eyes wide, Cas glanced back at his table and saw Dean sitting at the booth, staring at his empty plate.

“Well, this is gonna be a problem.”

“Look, Cas, I know you have some weird anxiety about owning cats, but he was…”

“That’s not the problem, Jimmy. It’s just…I kinda have my own guest, as well. In the form of a catboy.”

Stunned silence. It stretched and slithered on its slimy belly for ten whole seconds, which felt more like ten seconds to Cas. Jimmy groaned under his breath.

“Shit. God. Really, Cas? How is this…?”

Cas explained to Jimmy how he found Dean, leaving out his little meltdown on the side of the road of course. Jimmy told Cas about Sam, a catboy he found being abused by a woman downtown. The entire situation was dangerous and a tad awkward. How would the boys react to meeting each other? Catpeople got along fairly well at times when humans weren't pitting them against each other. The brothers made a plan to discuss sleeping arrangements when they got home and when exactly to take their boys to the vet. 

\--------

The ride home was awkward. Jimmy and Cas sat at the front while the catboys, Sam and Dean, sat in the back, far apart from each other. The Novak brothers hadn’t spoken one word to each other. Cas looked tense, jaw set, grinding his teeth, his gaze cast far into another plane. Usually, he’d be bitching at Jimmy about what turns he should make and what cars were coming or complaining that he’s going too fast. But this was even worse.

Jimmy missed Cas. He longed for him. His brother sat fidgeting, bags under his blue eyes and his face rougher than usual. He was still handsome—sharp jaw, full lips, deep blue eyes and spiky hair. His body was still toned and lithe from all of the morning runs he’d go on and all the boxing he’d do at the gym on Saturdays. He seemed weaker, though, like he hadn’t eaten in days. Jimmy hadn’t eaten much either.

He sighed and looked up at the two catboys through the mirror. The one that Cas found on the side of road, Dean, was stunning. Sam and Dean were beautiful in their own ways. Sam was tall for a catboy and had a sharp, triangular-shaped face. His eyes were slanted and precise, and they held an intense blend of hazel, light blue and whisky gold. Dean was half an inch shorter and had a scrawny frame. He had long legs with a slight bow to them. His skin was a taut expanse of golden skin peppered with freckles. His eyes were a crisp bright green, reminding him of the fresh green apples his mom sometimes painted in their garage. 

“So, uh…Dean, what kind of games do you like to play? We have tons of games at home.”

Dean frowned as he pondered the question.

“I like to play hide and go seek, but I ain’t got friends and my ma and pa ain’t like me much, so I always play by myself. I heard about when I was watching the TV one night while my masters was sleepin' and saw some human kids playin’ it on the TV. It was a funny show.”

Jimmy nodded.

“What’s hide and go seek?” Sam finally spoke, looking up at Dean curiously.

“Is where you count an’ all an’ hide while someone tries to find you.” As Dean continued to explain the game to Sam, Jimmy watched them fondly on the rearview mirror. Even though Dean wasn’t entirely correct about how the game goes, it was still nice to see the boys bonding.

And even though he couldn’t see it, he knew Cas was smiling a little too.


End file.
